24/7

I'm one of those snooty guys who self-righteously proclaims that he hardly ever watches TV. Other than sports, I don't spend much time with the boob tube. Never seen OC, Lost, Cold Case, Veronica Mars, etc. I've watched Office a couple of times. House once or twice. And occasionally Jeopardy, or reruns of The Simpsons, Seinfeld, Everyone Loves Raymond or King of the Hill.

And for the most part, I've even avoided the DVD collections of TV series. But last week someone gave me a season of 24. I started the first episode Friday night at 11 p.m., and finished the 24th episode exactly seven days and three hours later. This was 'Crack TV' and I was a hopeless addict. I wanted to watch into the wee hours of the morning, even on weekdays. I missed two trips to the gym because I was up late the night before. Twice I watched an episode in the morning before work. And almost every day the thought crossed my mind that I could skip work for the day and binge my way into a 24-induced stupor.

I started to dream about Jack Bauer saving the world. I was ready to sign up to volunteer for David Palmer's campaign, except that I was so disgusted by his wife. I started looking at everyone in my real life with a suspicious eye, wondering if they were part of a conspiracy against me, or worse, against all things good in the world as we know them.

I can no longer look down my nose at Lanee for religously turning to Gilmore Girls every Tuesday night. I can't shake my head at friends or family who talk about who made the cut on Survivor, The Apprentice or Dancing with the Stars. No, because now I have faced the fiendish television addiction, with no signs of recovery.

It's 10 o'clock at night. Season Three is in the cabinet. And my hands are shaking.